“What experience have you had in hotel work?” “None, but lots in private homes. I'd like a job around the kitchen some place.” “Ever try pantry work?” “Not in a hotel, but lots in private families. I can do that swell!” (What pantry work meant I hadn't the least idea—thought perhaps washing glasses and silverware.) He put on his coat and hat and dashed upstairs. He always put on his coat _and_ hat to go upstairs. In a few moments he dashed hurriedly back, followed by another man whose teeth were all worn down in the front. I learned later that he was an important steward. He asked me all over again all the questions the first man had asked, and many more. He was in despair and impatient when he found I had not a single letter of recommendation from a single private family I had worked for. I could have written myself an excellent one in a few moments. Could I bring a letter back later in the day? “Can you fix salads?” “Sure!” “You think you could do the job?” “_Sure!_” “Well, you look as if you could. Never mind the letter, but get one to have by you—comes in handy any job you want. Now about pay—I can't pay you what you been used to getting, at least not first month.” (I'd mentioned nothing as to wages.) “Second month maybe more. First month all I can pay you is fifty and your meals. That all right?” As usual, my joy at landing a job was such that any old pay was acceptable. “Be back in two hours.” Just then the employment man called out to the hall filled with waiting men, “No jobs for any men this morning.” I don't know what became of the old women. I was back before my two hours were up, so anxious to begin. The employment man put on his hat and coat and dashed upstairs after my steward. Just incidentally, speaking of hats and coats, it can be mentioned that all this was in the middle of one of the hottest summers New York ever knew. The steward led the way up one flight of iron stairs and into the main kitchen. Wasn't I all eyes to see what was what! If anyone is looking for a bit of muck-raking about the hinterland of restaurants, let him not bother to read farther. Nothing could have been cleaner than the kitchen conditions in our hotel. And orders up and down the line were to serve _nothing_ which was not absolutely as it should be. In a corner of the main kitchen the steward turned me over to Bridget, who was to take me here, there, and the other place. By 11.30 A.M., I was back where I started from, only, thanks to aged Bridget and her none-too-sure leadings, I was clad in a white cap and white all-over apron-dress, and had had my lunch. Thereupon the steward escorted me to my own special corner of the world, where, indeed, I was to be lord of all I surveyed—provided my gaze fell not too far afield.